


Hands-on Demonstration

by Swindlefingers



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, let Zevran teach you a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swindlefingers/pseuds/Swindlefingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran has had enough of seeing Alistair’s amateur fumblings with his dick; it deserves better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands-on Demonstration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HardingHightown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardingHightown/gifts).



> A little smut prompted by HardingHightown's headcanon that a pre-romanced Alistair wanks aaaaall the time.

Zevran woke in the middle of the night to the sound of hurried shuffling and shallow breathing from the dark shape on the other side of the tent.

He rolled over onto his side, “Are you at it again?”

The shape froze.

“My dear warden, do not stop on my account. I was simply wondering if you were at yourself for, what is it? The  _third_ time today? That is quite a record.”

“Fourth,” Alistair grumbled.

“ _Fourth_?” Zevran clicked his tongue. “My good man, have you ever stopped to wonder  _why_ you need to take yourself in hand so often?”

Alistair rolled over onto his back, pushing down his blanket from his neck and sighing, “No, but I’m wondering why we’re having this conversation.”

“It is most likely because you are sacrificing  _quality_ for  _quantity_.”

“I can’t help it,” Alistair whined. He motioned at the tent pitched over his crotch, “it’s just always… there.”

“This is true. Young people have much  _pent up_  sexual energy. Tell me, what kinds of oils are you using?”

“Oils?” Alistair’s head rocked to the side, brows knit in confusion.

“Alistair, tell me you use some kind of lubrication.”

“Spit, I guess,” Alistair spoke as he pondered the palm of his hand. He closed it into a fist, groaned in irritation, and dropped his arm over his eyes, “Why are we talking about this?”

Zevran clucked his tongue, “Spit? That simply will not do.” He tossed back his blanket and crawled towards his bag. Digging around in one of the smaller side pockets, he found a small vial of opaque purple liquid.

“ _This_ one is my favorite. I quite like the smell of it,” Zevran poured several drops into his palm before rubbing his hands together. The tent filled with the warm scent of toffee. Zevran shuffled towards Alistair’s side on his knees.

“May I?” He motioned towards Alistair’s blanket.

“May you  _what_?” the warden’s eyes narrowed.

“May I demonstrate a better technique? One you might find more satisfying. You are free to say ‘no’,” Zevran shrugged.

“Can’t you just… tell me?” Alistair asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Unless you are fluent in Antivan, I do not have a way of explaining a few of these motions. It requires a  _hands-on_ demonstration, I’m afraid. I could, of course, demonstrate on myself but what would you learn from that?” Zevran smirked.

Zevran watched Alistair’s eyes dart between his face, to his oiled hands, and down at his own erection with a tiny whine. The blush darkened the man’s cheeks, “Yes, fine, ok.”

The assassin slowly pulled down the blanket. Alistair sucked air over his teeth as the rough weave brushed against the overly sensitive head of his cock. Zevran followed the dark blond hair down from Alistair’s navel to the root of his prick; girthy, pale, and bent slightly to the left. He noticed a ring of irritation in the middle of it’s length. Alistair must have been tugging mercilessly at the poor thing before he was interrupted.

Zevran placed the back of his hand above Alistair’s knee, “I have seen many cocks, Alistair. Yours is quite lovely.” He slowly brushed the back of his fingers up Alistair’s thigh and over the soft skin of his hipbone, a spot Zevran wished he could bend over and taste.

“Th-th-thank you? I think?”

He ran the back of his fingers along the side of Alistair’s cock. The warden shuddered.

“You are most welcome,” he hummed. After brushing past the tip of Alistair’s cock, Zevran slid his loose, oiled fist back down the length of it.

Alistair moaned through his nose.

Zevran spun slow, lazy circles around the base of the warden’s shaft, “Is this to your liking?”

“Yes,” Alistair answered breathlessly.

Zevran’s nimble fingers glided up and down Alistair’s prick. The young man rocked his hips in time, and let his head loll backwards. “There is no rush when you are taking care of yourself, just as with a lover,” the assassin reminded.

“Alistair.”

“Hmm?”

“You cannot hope to learn anything if you aren’t watching.” Zevran stilled his hand, “Would you like me to stop?”

Alistair snapped his head up, eyes open, “No! Don’t stop.” The blush on his cheeks spread across his chest.

Zevran chuckled, “Your wish is my command, dear warden. If you do wish me to stop at any time, just say the word.”

“And what word is that?”

“Well… whichever you like. ‘No’, ‘stop’, ‘don’t’; I am not picky.”

Alistair smirked, “What if I sa–Maker’s balls!” His thought was interrupted as Zevran’s hand moved to firmly cup his balls.

“These are not the Maker’s, but they are _just_ as important. They are quite sensitive and can add much to your pleasure,” Zevran ever-so-gently tightened his hold around the soft flesh.

For a few moments the only sounds heard were the wet slide of skin on skin, and Alistair’s stilted exhalations and quiet mewls. Zevran watched beads of sweat form along the man’s hairline and across his freckled chest. He was reminded how much he enjoyed taking a cock in his hands; how the soft skin slid around the firm center, how spongy the tip was until right before they came, how you could make most men in the world beg with just a squeeze or stroke. Tonight he only had one inexperienced warden and his poor, misused prick, but it was just as delightful.

“It is a balance, dear warden,” he broke the silence as Alistair’s head fell back again. “Are you watching?” Zevran slowed down, bouncing the hardening tip of the warden’s cock against the inside of his slick fist.

Alistair chuffed and flinched with every bounce. He frantically nodded, the ability to speak alluding him as the assassin’s deft hands squeezed and stroked.

“It is a balance between friction,” Zevran slid his opened hand halfway down Alistair’s shaft, “and pressure,” he wrapped his thumb and forefinger into a tight ring, “and speed”, he loosened his wrist to shuffle his hand quickly. 

Alistair gasped and squirmed.

“The goal is to find which kinds of touch please you the most,” Zevran murmured. “And it is an exciting journey to be had.”

Alistair licked at his lips and thrust his hips. He brought one hand off the ground to rub and pluck at his own nipples. The assassin could feel the warden’s balls tightening in his hand; he knew he was close.

“Does this feel good, Alistair?” Zevran purred.

“Yes,” he hoarsely whispered. His breath heaved through his flared nostrils.

The assassin sped up his hand slightly, “Good.”

The warden bit down on his lip, the bedroll beneath him bunched in his tight fists. His eyes focused on Zevran’s deft hand cradling his balls and stroking his leaking cock. His thighs shook with every stroke of the assassin’s oiled fingers.

“Are you going to come, my dear warden?” Zevran locked eyes with Alistair as he tightened his grip. 

Alistair rapidly nodded before his face froze in a mask of sweet agony; his mouth open in a silent shout. Snapping his mouth shut, he pushed a strained, “Coming,” through his clenched teeth. He dropped his chin to his chest, the muscles in his stomach coiled, and he frantically rutted his hips into the air.

Zevran shifted his grip to surround the head of the warden’s cock in his slick, pulsing fist. Alistair hissed and quivered for a few moments as he pumped his spend into Zevran’s hand.

With a deep exhalation, Alistair collapsed flat onto his bedroll, panting and sweating. “Maker…” he whispered as he stretched out his legs and caught his breath.

“Is that what you are to call me from now on?” Zevran smirked as he sat back on his heels.

Alistair snorted as he lazily dug through his pile of clothes near his head. He tossed a sock at Zevran. The assassin wiped most of the man’s seed off onto the offered sock, but lapped away a few bitter, salty smears between his fingers: his reward for offering up his teaching services.

“I trust tonight was enlightening?” Zevran shuffled back towards his bedroll, tossing the sock into another corner.

Alistair, still covered in a rosy blush, pulled his blanket up to his waist. “Yes, thank you. That was very… enlightening?" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, "But what happened tonight isn’t to leave this tent.”

“I would never _dream_ of such a thing. I am very discrete,” Zevran winked and tossed the vial of toffee-scented oil at Alistair. “If you are in need of more lessons, you know where to find me.”

Alistair groaned and rolled over, “Goodnight Zevran.”

Zevran chuckled before slipping back under his blanket, “And to you, my dear warden.”


End file.
